


Women At Work

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cinderella in Concrete, Clexa Week 2021, Construction Worker Clarke, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, at work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Lexa is just getting home from a long day at work and all she wants to do is get out of her heels and relax.  But when she's distracted by the unexpected and ample assets of one of the constructions workers, she accidentally puts her foot in it... literally.  Forced to leave a shoe behind to escape utter humiliation, she later discovers a note on the door with a number to call if she wants her shoe back.  When she texts the number, the response she receives is more than she bargained for.For Clexa Week 2021 - Day 4 - At WorkYou can see the associated moodboardhere.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 40
Kudos: 357
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	Women At Work

Lexa had long since tuned out Titus' voice droning away in her ear. He was talking in circles about something she was sure he thought was extremely important, which she was equally sure she didn't care about and wasn't her problem. All she wanted to do was get home, change out of her heels and into her sneakers, go for a run, and after that take a long shower to wash off the day and order something objectively terrible for her (which she could justify because she'd just gone for a run). 

She reached into her bag to fish out her keys. When she looked up, she noticed a few men in dusty jeans and reflective vests smoothing out a patch of freshly poured cement at the end of the block. Then one who had been hunched over straightened up and Lexa realized they weren't all men after all. In fact, one of them was very, very much _not_ a man, and the proof was practically spilling out of the neckline of her white tank top, clearly visible under her unbuttoned denim work shirt. 

"I've gotta go," Lexa muttered, and unceremoniously hung up on Titus. She would hear about it in the morning, she was sure, but that was a problem for future Lexa. Right-now Lexa had other problems: the woman was staring right back at her. Or maybe she was just looking in her general direction, maybe she hadn't seen her at all, but either way...

Lexa quickly ducked her head and sped toward her building. She had nearly reached it when the ground gave out beneath her. For a second she thought maybe her foot had slipped off the sidewalk, but when she looked down she saw it was much, much worse.

She heard laughter, then shouting, and she tried to yank herself free of the cold, wet cement that was threatening to harden around her ankles. One foot came free easily, and her shoe with it. The other... didn't. She stumbled forward, planting her bare foot into the cement again. There was nowhere to go but forward so she lurched her way to solid ground and twisted around to see about retrieving the embedded heel. But there were footsteps approaching, and when she looked up it was the woman, approaching at a walk almost brisk enough to be considered a jog, and Lexa had no idea what expression was on her face because all she could see was the way her breasts bounced with each step. 

Lexa snapped her mouth shut and shook herself, gauging the distance to her building and the likelihood that the woman was about to read her the riot act for ruining their work and forcing them to have to redo it when it had to be close to (if not past) quitting time. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture, so she quickly made the decision to cut her losses and left the shoe behind. She took a few slow, lopsided steps, then yanked off her other shoe, making a barefoot beeline for her building's front door.

"Hey!" she heard from behind her. "Hey!" 

Her keys nearly slipped from her fingers as she fumbled for the one that unlocked the door. Her hands shook as she tried to line it up with the keyhole, but then the door swung open and she darted in, clipping the shoulder of the person exiting on her way past. She mumbled an apology as she dashed up the stairs and into the safety of her apartment. 

"Shit," she muttered. "Shit shit shit!" She looked down at the heel she still held and it took all of her restraint not to hurl it across the room. She hated heels on principal, but the pair she'd been wearing had been one of the least offensive she owned, and absolutely the most expensive. Of course. 

"SHIT!" Lexa shouted again for good measure, thumping her hand against the door at her back. She started to stomp toward her bedroom before realizing that one of her feet was caked in cement, and she probably didn't want to track that across the floor. She didn't know what it might do to the finish on the wood floors, and she wasn't in a hurry to find out. She found a scarf she rarely wore (it had been a gift and it was made of the scratchiest wool known to man) and wrapped it around her foot in an improvised sock/boot situation. She picked her way gingerly to the bathroom, trying to set as little of her foot, even covered, down as possible. She perched herself on the edge of the tub and stuck both feet in the bath, rinsing and scrubbing until she was sure there was no trace of sidewalk left adhered to them, then sat there for a few minutes longer, letting the warm water relax the muscles that had been strained all day by walking around on her toes. 

When she was done, she went to her room to change into her workout gear. She peeked out the window and saw that the construction crew was gone, and the holes in the square of sidewalk she'd ruined had been filled in and smoothed over as if she'd never been there. This time there was caution tape around the wet cement to prevent anyone else from meeting her fate. 

The only question now was: where the hell was her shoe?

Lexa laced up her sneakers and went outside, queuing up one of her running playlists. She double-checked the front door had shut behind her – it didn't always – and that's when she noticed the note:

_I have your shoe. Call me._

It was scribbled on a page torn from one of those pocket-sized memo pads, and a ten-digit number was scrawled under the words. Lexa hesitated, then peeled it from the window and tucked it into her pocket to worry about later. She set off down the sidewalk, giving the new patches – and anything else that looked like it might not be fully solid, a wide berth. 

But the note felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket... and in her mind. As much as she tried to focus on her breath and body, to let all the worries of the day drain away, she couldn't stop thinking about it. At first glance it looked like a woman's handwriting – she would think it was a little too loopy to be a man's – but that was a stereotype, and probably wishful thinking on her part that it was the woman whose rack was to blame for this whole mess who had left it. More likely it was one of the men trying to get her number – although maybe she was giving herself too much credit, and them too little – or the foreman of the crew wanting to make sure she wasn't pissed and going to report them for not marking off the area as soon as they'd finished working. 

She ended up cutting her run short because she just couldn't find her rhythm, and her mind was going in so many directions (including what the view would be like if the woman in the reflective vest were jogging alongside her) that she was afraid she would get herself into even more trouble than she already had in her distraction. 

When she got home, she stripped out of her sweaty bra and tank and leggings and headed for the bathroom. She started the water running, then went back to retrieve her phone. She pulled the note from her pocket, grateful that her sweat hadn't smeared the ink, and sent a text.

 **Lexa:** How do I know you really have my shoe?

She tossed the phone back on her bed and got in the shower. When she got out, she could see the notification for a text on her screen. She tucked the end of her towel in around her chest and went to check it... and felt her heart trip over itself, knocking into her sternum before settling at a pace that rivaled where it had been at the peak of her run. 

Because the picture she'd received wasn't just a shoe. It was _her_ shoe, with the heel wedged firmly between a set of breasts that she was pretty sure she would recognize anywhere now, they were so emblazoned in her mind's eye. 

Accompanying the message was a caption of sorts: 

**Unknown Number:** I thought you might recognize these better than the shoe. 😉

Lexa felt heat creeping up her neck and down her chest, settling in her core and simmering there, ready to boil at the slightest provocation. 

_Fuck._ Well, now she knew... But that created a whole other set of questions, because it felt like the woman was flirting with her, and she _did_ work in construction, but that was a stereotype again and Lexa didn't want to be That Person. And what if it was some kind of elaborate set-up? What if she wasn't flirting, but toying with her to lure her in. Maybe she was the boss' daughter, or the wife or sister of one of the workers, and they'd put her up to it after catching Lexa staring and now they were going teach her a lesson.

 _Or maybe you've watched one too many Lifetime dramas,_ she chided herself. And it wasn't as if she didn't know how to take care of herself. Meet in a public place on neutral ground... except she already knew where Lexa lived. She'd seen her go into the building, and there weren't that many units. It wouldn't be particularly difficult to find Lexa, if she – or someone else – got it into their head to do so. 

**Lexa:** Could be my shoe. Could be a picture you found on the internet. 

Which it could be. The odds were miniscule, but not zero, that there would be a picture of that particular shoe pressed into the cleavage of a woman in a dusty, dirt-smeared tank top floating out there somewhere on the web.

A message came back a second later. 

**Unknown Number:** Well if we're being paranoid, how do I know it's YOUR shoe?

Lexa blew out a breath. She had a point. Anyone could have taken the note from the door and texted, and received a response that could easily be filed in their spank bank. Which wasn't on Lexa, of course, and it wasn't as if any part of the woman's face showed so it wasn't going to get her in trouble with her employer or anyone else if it found its way into the public domain. Still... tit for tat. Metaphorically speaking. She wasn't about to send anything racy. She just turned on her camera, stretching out her arm, and snapped a quick selfie, hitting Send after checking the image was in focus without much thought for its contents.

It was only after the message had swooshed away that she realized she was still in her towel, her hair a damp, tousled mess and her skin glistening where it wasn't fully dry. She brought up the picture and looked at it more closely, her stomach in knots as she analyzed every aspect of it.

Why the hell hadn't she just sent a picture of the other shoe?!

Her phone chimed, sending her heartrate spiking again. 

**Unknown Number:** So wet

Lexa's knuckles turned white as she gripped her phone. Because the comment might have been referring to her, but it almost might not have been, and the thought – on top of another glance at the blonde's previous picture – was enough to have her rubbing her thighs together, trying to ease the ache between them. 

Another message popped up. Another picture – this one of her shoe again, water beaded on its surface, and the construction worker's winking face. Her eyes were blue as the autumn sky, and Lexa had to remind herself to breathe. 

**Unknown Number:** I meant the shoe. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Lexa laughed, self-conscious at being called out even though the woman had no idea. Or maybe she did, or hoped she did, or—

A third picture came through, and Lexa had to grab onto the top of her dresser to keep from toppling completely. This one was oa nearly full body shot of the blonde wearing a hard hat, her reflective vest, a pair of boy shorts... and nothing else. Everything was covered, and yet... 

**Unknown Number:** So do you want your shoe or not?

It was only then that Lexa realized that the woman was, in fact, still holding her shoe in the picture.

She also realized that this wasn't really about the shoe anymore. Maybe it never had been. Because if it had just been about the shoe, the woman could have left the number of whatever company she worked for and left it at some office somewhere for Lexa to retrieve. Hell, she could have just left it at the front door. 

She hadn't. She'd brought it home – at least Lexa assumed she was home, what little background there was in the pictures she'd sent didn't give much away – and left her own personal number, and she'd been flirting – was it even still flirting when Lexa knew she had a constellation of freckles on her left hip, just above her low-rise waistband, but still didn't know her name? – from the start.

She licked lips gone dry and tapped out a response.

 **Lexa:** Yes.

The woman's response came so quickly Lexa couldn't help thinking she'd had it already typed out, ready to hit Send the second Lexa replied in the affirmative. It was an address, followed by a four-digit code. 

**Unknown Number:** I'll be waiting.

And then a final picture of her sprawled on a bed, her hard hat tossed aside, her vest still covering what needed to be covered for decency's sake, but only just barely. She was propped up on one elbow, blonde hair in a messy bun that tendrils had escaped from to frame her face and trail down her neck. Lexa's shoe was propped on the pillow beside her, and she was tracing her finger along the heel. 

How she was even getting these shots Lexa had no idea, and she wasn't going to try to guess. She just grabbed clothing from her drawers – her favorite jeans that were worn so thin in places it was a gamble that the material might just give way every time she wore them, and a loose-fitting top that was only just barely opaque. She stuffed her feet into a pair of slip-on Vans, grabbed her keys from where she'd tossed them on the bed, and was out the door in record time. 

When she pulled up at the address she'd been given there was a pick-up truck – not new but not old – parked in the driveway. She pulled in behind it and climbed out with a quick glance up and down the street like she was doing something elicit and didn't want to risk anyone seeing her. Which she kind of felt like she was as she bypassed the front door and instead headed for the little keypad next to the garage door, typing in the code she'd been given.

The door rattled upward, and Lexa ducked under, glancing around at the garage's contents – a mixture of out-of-season seasonal décor, things probably waiting to be taken somewhere for donation, tools and and... art supplies? Lexa guessed that explained the better than amateur framing and composition of the pics she'd received. 

She reached for the doorknob that would let her into the house and hesitated. There was still a chance this was a trick, a trap, and she was about to walk right into it and maybe never walk out. If she had any sense at all she would turn around and go home and forget about the shoe, or ask the woman to bring it out to her, or—

The knob twisted easily and the door cracked open. Lexa took a tentative step forward, then another. She heard the sound of soft steps approaching and looked up. 

The woman hadn't put anything else on, and with every step her breasts threatened to slip free of the loose confines of the vest. "I believe this is yours?" she said, holding out Lexa's shoe with a coy smile. 

Lexa let out a huff of breath and reached for it... and then past it, her hands ghosting up the woman's arms, fingertips brushing her shoulders and neck before sinking into her hair, Lexa's thumbs on either side of her jaw as she drew her in. 

There was no resistance to Lexa's gentle tug, and when their mouths met, her lips parted against Lexa's with the softest of sighs. The shoe clattered to the ground as her hands landed on Lexa's hips, one finger curling around a beltloop on either side, dragging their hips flush. Lexa groaned as the woman's thigh edged between hers, her grip tightening on the back of her head, crushing their mouths together until she felt teeth.

One of the woman's hands released itself and came up to Lexa's wrist, her fingers circling it and drawing it down, letting Lexa's palm just graze her breast before continuing its descent. When it reached the woman's hip, she switched her grip, interlacing their fingers and easing them between their grinding bodies until Lexa's fingertips were pressed into the soaking material of her shorts. Her lips strayed from Lexa's mouth to her ear as she purred, "I wasn't _just_ talking about your shoe." 

Lexa's fingers twitched. Her entire body twitched, clenching and releasing for a single spasmodic second before she swallowed the woman's gasp of surprise as she pushed down the elastic circling her waist and worked her hand inside. She pushed through the sodden tangle of curls and eased into her slick folds, parting her and drawing up wetness to her clit. 

"Fuck!" the woman hissed, grabbing onto Lexa's shoulder as her knees buckled. "Oh fuck!"

"Mmhmm," Lexa agreed, circling slowly once, twice, before pressing a little deeper, the tip of her middle finger finding the woman's entrance and teasing at it until the blonde began jerking her hips, trying to find the right angle, the right move, to push Lexa inside. But Lexa wouldn't – couldn't – yet. Not without knowing... "What's your name?"

"Clarke!" the woman gasped. "Fuck—"

"Lexa," she filled in. 

"Fuck, Lexa!" Clarke finished. " _Please_!" 

"Well since you asked so nicely," Lexa said, and with a slow, steady thrust, buried her finger in Clarke as far as it would go. Clarke kissed her, nipping at her lower lip, letting it drag through her teeth, until Lexa added a second finger and began to work her in earnest, the heel of her hand putting pressure on Clarke's clit for her to grind against, which she did with abandon until she tensed, then collapsed, liquid in Lexa's arms. 

"Bed. That way." Clarke gestured with an arm limp as an overboiled noodle before letting it drop around Lexa's shoulders, and they stumbled together to the indicated room, where Clarke unceremoniously crumpled onto the bed, reaching up a second later to draw Lexa down on top of her. 

"May I?" Lexa asked, tapping the buckle that just barely held Clarke's vest shut. 

"Please," Clarke said again, her lips curving into a smile as Lexa unleashed her not insubstantial assets. 

Lexa's tongue darted out to wet her lips. Clarke's nipples were as hard as the cement she worked with, rosy red and slightly chafed from the friction of the vest against them. Lexa's hands slid up Clarke's ribs to cup her breasts, feeling the weight of them in her palms, the skin silky soft. She leaned down and let her lips brush over the taut points, and felt Clarke shudder and gasp beneath her. She laved the flat of her tongue over them and watched the tension ease... only to tighten and pebble again as her breath ghosted over them. She did it again on the other side, going back and forth a few times as Clarke first sighed, then moaned, then groaned and arched up, pushing her breasts into Lexa's face, demanding more than just teasing. 

"I'm so... close..." she whined, her head thrashing on the pillow, and Lexa looked up at her in surprise. She was close just from Lexa playing with her breasts? Granted, she was also straddling Clarke's hips and maybe she'd unconsciously been rubbing against her, but she hadn't known it was possible for someone to get so turned on they could come just from having their nipples teased. But if it _was_ possible...

She wrapped her lips around one of Clarke's nipples while the ball of her thumb circled the other, and yes, Clarke was definitely arching and rubbing her hips against Lexa's (and Lexa would be shocked if her jeans didn't have a visible wet spot between her legs before this was over), but there was no direct friction on her clit, so Lexa didn't know what – if anything – it was doing except demonstrating just how much tension was building as she licked and sucked and nipped and tweaked Clarke's breasts, moving from her nipple outward in expanding circles and then back in again. Clarke's breath came in quick, harsh, panting gasps punctuated by keening moans, until finally she grabbed the back of Lexa's head, pushing her face between her breasts until she could barely breathe as she thrashed her way through a climax that Lexa still couldn't quite wrap her mind around. When Clarke finally released her, she took the opportunity to ease Clarke's underwear down her hips and thighs, over her knees and calves. Clarke's legs fell to either side, and Lexa pressed soft kisses to the freckles she'd noticed in the photo before trailing down the crux of her hip, and coaxed a third orgasm from her with what felt like barely more than a breath. 

"Lexa," Clarke murmured, fingers flexing against her upper arms, drawing her upward to her mouth where she sucked the taste of herself from Lexa's lips. "God _damn_..."

Lexa smiled, tucking her face into the curve of Clarke's neck as her cheeks flushed. She draped her arm over Clarke's belly, tracing her fingers idly over her ribs, her smile widening when Clarke shivered. 

"You know," Clarke said, her breath in Lexa's ear sending a jolt down her spine, "you are _extremely_ overdressed."

"You could do something about that," Lexa said, her stomach clenching in ways both pleasant and not. Because it had been a while – a long while – since she'd allowed herself to be seen, to be touched, to... And it was crazy that she was doing it – this – now with a complete stranger, but somehow it felt okay.

No, not okay. Good. 

It felt... _right_.

Clarke kissed her, her hands deft and her touch tender as she drew Lexa's shirt up and off, and peeled her jeans down, revealing that she hadn't taken the time to bother with undergarments when she'd known there was a very good chance they would only get in the way. 

"Well," Clarke said. "I knew you looked good in clothes... but _damn_ do you look great out of them." She grinned, and Lexa smiled back even though part of her wanted to hide from Clarke's gaze, because it felt like she saw _everything_ – not just what was on the surface but what was underneath, too. 

But there was nowhere to hide, and as Clarke began to trace her fingers over her skin, the barest brush of a touch becoming firmer just when Lexa thought she couldn't take it any longer. Clarke lavished attention on every part of her, finding the places Lexa knew she liked to be touched, and a few she'd never known, until it felt like all of her nerves had lit up and she was crackling with electricity, lightning waiting to strike. 

When Clarke's fingers finally dipped between her legs, Lexa pressed up into it, her hips rocking and jerking against the rhythm of Clarke's slow circling, seeking more and harder and faster because it felt like it – like she – was taking far too long and she was sure Clarke would lose interest or get annoyed, or— 

"Hey," Clarke said, her lips brushing Lexa's earlobe even as her hand slowed almost to stillness. "You don't have to—" She stopped, pushed up on her elbow so she could look Lexa in the eye. "You don't have try to do the work for me," she said. 

Lexa bit her lip. "I'm just trying to... speed things up," she said. 

"Because you want to or because you think I want you to?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa turned away, which probably told Clarke everything she needed to know, but Lexa answered anyway. "I just don't want to cause you more trouble than I already have today, making you and your crew redo the sidewalk I stepped in and—"

Clarke nuzzled against Lexa's cheek until she turned back, seeking her lips without realizing that's what she was doing until they met and something inside Lexa unknotted, just a little. "I just... I mean, you... _three times_..."

"I've always found it easy to come," Clarke said. "It doesn't take much."

Lexa grimaced. "And here I thought it was my sexual prowess." She was only half joking. 

Clarke smiled. "That too," she said. "Because there's coming and then there's _coming_ , and trust me, that was the latter. All four times."

"Wait, _four_?" 

Clarke smirked. "You've got skills, girl," she said, kissing her, playfulness sliding into passion and then something deeper and more, and when they paused to catch their breath again, her expression was serious. "It's not a race," Clarke told her, her lips still close enough to brush Lexa's. "And you're not a problem. If you think about it, it was really my fault for not marking it. So really, I owe you, and I have every intention of making it up to you as many times as you can stand." Her lips finally met Lexa's fully, snatching her breath away with the tender roughness of the kiss. Clarke pulled back again, and her eyes on Lexa's were soft but fierce. "It takes as long as it takes." Clarke kissed her again. "And I'm not going anywhere." 

Lexa sucked in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, letting go of her tension and her need to please and the expectations she thought Clarke had, letting herself settle into her own skin and truly inhabit her body, and when Clarke touched her again she was a million points of light turning on one by one by one until she wouldn't have been surprised if she was actually glowing. Time lost meaning and her entire world was just Clarke and the sensations in her body that Clarke drew to the surface, and at some point she lost track of where she ended and Clarke began and when climax finally crashed through her it left her hollowed out and entirely full in its wake, and then darkness closed in around her.

When her eyes fluttered open again, Clarke was wrapped around her, their bodies fitted together like an old favorite pair of shoes, separate and slightly different but perfectly matched. She felt Clarke's lips on the back of her neck and shoulder, and she pushed back into the touch. Clarke's lips curved into a smile, and Lexa craned her head around to kiss her. 

"Every time I think you can't get any more beautiful," Clarke said, "you go and prove me wrong." She loosened her grip on Lexa so she could roll over, and they settled back together face-to-face. "Although... I don't suppose you brought the other half of the pair with you?"

It took Lexa a second to realize she was talking about the shoe that she had supposedly come here to retrieve. "No," she said. "Sorry." 

"Mmm," Clarke said. "Maybe next time then." 

Lexa's nose brushed against Clarke's. "Next time?" she asked, already halfway to kissing her.

Clarke melted into the kiss, rolling on top of Lexa and pressing her down, and all thoughts of any time but this moment disappeared, and it was easier the second time.

"Definitely next time," Clarke said when their hearts had stopped racing and they could breathe enough to talk. 

"In order for there to be a next time, this time has to end," Lexa pointed out. 

Clarke pulled the covers up over them. "But not yet," she said twining herself around Lexa in an embrace so intimate Lexa's breath caught and her whole body shook. 

"No," Lexa said. "Not yet." And it was easier still the third. And the fourth, and...


End file.
